


memories

by anattemptatwordbending



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Hurt/Comfort (eventually), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, good dad dadza, irl fic but its still the characters not the people, sbi + ranboo, vibes mayhaps?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:08:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anattemptatwordbending/pseuds/anattemptatwordbending
Summary: No, no no. His vision was getting all fuzzy and all he could focus on was the cold book clutched tightly to his chest, his tense arms burning.Why did you do that, Ranboo? Why did you fuck it up? You had one job. All you had to do was not let him figure out the book was important.No, no, no.Ranboo has a new home, but he's still broken from his last ones.
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 377





	1. "home"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that is about the least unique name for a ranboo fanfic but i am extremely tired. anyway. hope you enjoy this it took me forever.

“Hey, I can hold that for you,” the short blonde man (named Phil, he had to remember that, _Phil_ ) offered, holding out his hand. Ranboo’s eyes darted from his memory book to the outstretched hand, his heart sinking. He couldn’t say no. He couldn’t. Because then Phil might figure out what the book was for.

He’d told his last family. They’d always ask why he carried that stupid, raggedy thing around with him, why he was always flipping through the pages and scribbling down things after conversations. And he’d explained, because how could it hurt?

He passed the book shakily to Phil, getting a better grip on his bags. If Phil noticed the tremor in his hands and his breathing that was a little too quick, he didn’t say anything. He started walking, saying something about how the car was a little while away, an apology. Ranboo just nodded and followed.

 _How could it hurt?_ He’d told himself, to tell his foster family about his book. They already knew the basics of his memory problems. He just filled in their knowledge, clarified some things ( _How often do you forget? What do you forget?_ ) and explained what he used the book for. And he hadn’t noticed anything wrong, at first. They weren’t angry, they seemed interested, even, asking lots of questions about how it worked. And they let him keep carrying it around.

“This is ours,” Phil said, pointing to an old blue car. Ranboo nodded, depositing his stuff in the back seat where Phil gestured. Phil put the notebook down on the seat too. Casually, like it wasn’t the most important thing that Ranboo owned. (Not that he knew that, of course.) He fought the urge to grab it and hold it tightly to his chest. 

It had taken weeks for Ranboo to realize that something didn’t add up. It had taken months for him to confront them. At first it was just little things. A day with no entries. A vague memory of pencil on paper but nothing there. The shadow of a bruise that he couldn’t explain. He hadn’t thought much of it. He was forgetful, after all.

Phil asked if he wanted him to play any music. He shrugged a little. He didn’t know what Phil wanted, and he didn’t want to upset him so soon. Phil nodded and put on some soft piano music, starting to drive.

He’d eventually realized, though. Entries were _missing_. They had to be. He must have confronted them about it. He didn’t remember. Next thing he knew, he was lying in a hospital bed, and he was told he wasn’t going back to that family.

“Are you okay with spaghetti for dinner?” Phil asked. “We’re almost home.” Ranboo nodded, holding his hands together tightly. “Home” wasn’t something he could trust.

His memory book didn’t say what had been happening in the times he couldn’t remember. But he pieced it together. The bruises, the missing pages, waking up with a broken rib. It wasn’t the abuse that made him feel the sick twisting of his stomach. It was that he _didn’t know._ That they’d taken the one thing he had, the one thing he could trust, his book. That they’d used it to hurt him.

The car had pulled into a driveway beside a brown house. “We’re here!” Phil said brightly, reaching back for the memory book. The _book._ His _memories._

_It could happen again._

“Please--,” Ranboo gasped. His heart was racing, like it wanted to rip out of his chest. “Please don’t.”

Phil immediately drew back, looking at Ranboo with a creased brow. “Okay,” he said reassuringly. He paused. “Are you okay with telling me what’s wrong?”

“Just please don’t touch it,” Ranboo stammered, not making eye contact. 

Phil nodded. “I won’t, I’m sorry. You can hold it, if that would help.”

Ranboo reached awkwardly behind Phil and grabbed the book with his shaking hands. He pulled it close to his chest. If Phil was confused, he didn’t show it. 

It hit him all at once what he’d just done. Fuck. _Fuck._ Now Phil knew. Now Phil would figure it out. Now Ranboo wouldn’t remember, now he wouldn’t know what was happening, he’d _forget_ , foggy pain with nowhere to place it…

No, no no. His vision was getting all fuzzy and all he could focus on was the cold book clutched tightly to his chest, his tense arms burning. _Why did you do that, Ranboo? Why did you fuck it up? You had one job. All you had to do was not let him figure out the book was important._ No, no, no.

~~~

The boy’s arms were wrapped tightly around the old notebook he was holding. Phil knew the tenseness in his shoulders, he knew the way his head was ducked.

 _How_ had he managed to make the poor kid panic already?

No, he couldn’t think that way. He’d been through enough times with his sons to know there was sometimes no way to avoid it. (That didn’t stop the guilt flowing through him.)

Okay, calm. Reassure. “I won’t look in the notebook,” Phil said softly. “I promise.” He wasn’t used to comforting Ranboo. He didn’t know what Ranboo needed. He knew Tommy and Wilbur and Techno, he knew what their unspoken gestures said, he knew when they needed softness and when they needed protection and when they needed to be alone. Ranboo was something new. (Someone new.) And Phil was lost.

“You’re alright,” he tried, and it sounded weak. “It’s okay. I can show you your room if you want, you can be alone. I’m here, though. If you need me.”

“Room?” Ranboo whispered tentatively, his voice shaking. Phil nodded.

“I’ll show you where it is.”

Ranboo followed him out of the car, stumbling a little. He didn’t bring his bags, just the small notebook. Phil led him to the bottom of the stairs. He wanted to bring him all the way there, but the way Ranboo guarded himself made Phil want to let him feel safe as soon as possible, even if that meant letting him leave. “It’s right up there on the left,” Phil said. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me, okay?” Ranboo nodded gratefully and practically ran up the stairs.

Phil sighed. This wasn’t a great start. He hoped leaving him alone was the right choice. He just didn’t want to scare him more, already. 

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. A call from Wilbur. They’d agreed that it would be best for his sons to stay at Eret, Niki and Tubbo’s for the night.

“Hey,” he said quietly, walking into the next room.

“How is he doing?” Wilbur’s voice was calm, but Phil knew it was a front.

“He’s in his room right now,” Phil said carefully. “He started panicking-- I don’t really know why. I think he just needs some time alone.”

Wilbur inhaled worriedly. Phil let the silence hang in the air for a moment. “Are you guys doing okay?”

“I think so,” Wilbur said. Tommy is with Tubbo upstairs-- he’s-- checking in all the time, to see if anything has happened. He told me--” his breath hitched. “He told me the first day is always the worst, that you have to figure out what the rules are, what’s gonna get you--,” he trailed off.

Phil’s heart twisted. He’d thought maybe it would help Tommy to meet another kid from the foster system. So he wouldn’t be alone. But he hadn’t anticipated the frantic pacing, the constant rereading of the small file they were given, the agonizing over tiny details of what might make Ranboo feel better or worse. 

He was proud of Tommy. His son was strong, and deeply, deeply, kind. He just wished it didn’t hurt him so much.

“And you and Techno?”

“Techno’s more fidgety than usual but he’s alright. I’m okay. Oh, Tommy’s here.” There was rustling from the other end of the line, and then a familiar loud voice came over the speaker.

“Dadza!” Tommy said enthusiastically, like he always did when he tried to hide anxiety. “How’s it going?”

“He’s okay,” Phil said gently. “He’s in his room, he’s calming down I think.”

There was a nervous silence, and then a small voice, almost untraceable to the loud one from moments before. “How scared is he?”

“I don’t-- he’s scared,” Phil admitted.

“He’ll be okay,” Tommy said quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself of it. “I was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> roleplay aside im so genuinely proud of ranboo. hes one of the only people i can wholeheartedly say deserves every little bit of success he gets. imma be real i cried a ton during his charity stream sjdfkgdfg
> 
> soo.. longer fic pog? if you guys like this chapter ill do more (you have guaranteed chapter two at least) it's been hard to write lately so if you wanna comment id v much be happyyyy. ly all!!


	2. family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ranboo tries to take stock of his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sO my sister did fanart for the last chapter and i cried a bunch have a link 
> 
> https://morningsaidthemoon.tumblr.com/post/644097007617802240/a-comic-for-my-sister-ademonwithinternets-new

Ranboo closed the door behind him with shaky hands, listening to make sure Phil wasn’t following him up. He sunk slowly against the door, clutching his book.

 _He knows. He knows._ No, he doesn’t know exactly. The book could be important for any reason. _You fucked up._ No, no. He would just be more careful. It was okay.

He slumped onto his knees, tears stinging at his eyes. He shut them tightly. He wouldn’t cry.

“Breathe, Ranboo,” he whispered. He took a trembling breath, counting on his fingers. Inhale, Exhale. Inhale, Exhale. He sat there for a few minutes, forcing himself to calm down.

Okay. A little better, for now. He needed to take stock. 

From what he could see from his place against the door, it was a nice room. The bed was made, and the blankets looked soft. He just wanted to crawl into it and curl up, but he couldn’t. He had to figure out what was in store for him here. And he couldn’t mess up the well-made bed, he didn’t know if that was allowed yet.

The walls were soft blue, and there was a desk on the far wall. There was a big basket on it that seemed to be full. Ranboo pulled himself up with the door handle, putting the notebook under his arm, and softly made his way across the room.

The basket had an assortment of things. There were a bunch of snack bars on one side, and an apple and banana. There was an entire box of ritz crackers and even some hershey kisses that had fallen to the bottom. There was a note on top of all of it that said “Open!”

Ranboo took the note, careful not to move anything from its place. The inside was written in messy handwriting.

_Hi Ranboo!!_

_I’m Tommy, I don’t know if you know about me, I live here too. These are some snacks for you. Sorry I don’t know what you like. I tried to give lots of options. They’re all for you, you don’t have to eat them but we won’t take them away, so you might as well have as much as you want. I’m here if you need anything, well I’m not this second but I will be. My room is right beside yours. Uh, yeah. Dadza is really good I promise, you can tell him if you need anything. I’ll see you?_

_From Tommy_

Ranboo stared at the note for another second. It was… nice. Too nice. It was suspicious.

He flipped the note over. On the back was scrawled, _Please don’t worry about getting in trouble. They’re for you to eat._

How did Tommy know he would be worried about that? He glanced back at the snacks. There were enough that he could take a couple snack bars and some hershey kisses without it being noticeable. Those could be important later, he never knew how long he’d go without food.

He carefully took two bars and three hershey kisses from the basket, making sure that it didn’t look different. He placed the note back in the same place. 

The food he’d gotten went under the mattress. He desperately wanted to eat one of the bars, but he had to save them. 

_Don’t worry about getting in trouble. They’re for you to eat._ No, no. He couldn’t believe that.

He finally pulled his memory book out from under his arm, taking the pen from behind his ear. He opened to the next page and quickly scribbled what he knew.

_Phil knows book is important, almost panicked in front of him. Tommy left snacks and note, seems suspiciously welcoming. Have to be more careful about the book._

The note might be important. He paused, and then copied it down into his notebook. Just in case.

He stood up, and with every nerve in his body protesting, he tucked the book under his mattress beside the snacks. He couldn’t let Phil see him with it any more.

There was a window beside his bed. He looked out. It wasn’t too tall of a house, but enough that if he needed to escape he’d probably break something. He wasn’t exactly strong. 

Ranboo hadn’t heard any steps from downstairs, so Phil was probably doing something. That meant now was a good time to explore. It was the last time he’d be able to properly, it would be too dangerous with three kids in the house.

He tiptoed out, quietly closing the door behind him, and poked his head in the rooms as he passed them. He only needed to find one room. Phil’s.

The first must have been Tommy’s. It was messy, the bed unmade, and the walls were plastered with posters. The second looked more refined, with a guitar leaning against the far wall and a huge world map above the desk. The third was the neatest. There were a bunch of rocks lined up on the shelf in all colours. Ranboo wanted to sit down and look at each of them, but he closed the door. _Not yours, Ranboo._

The end of the hall had one last door. It had to be Phil’s bedroom. Ranboo creaked open the door slowly, glancing nervously behind him at the stairwell. 

This was definitely Phil’s. Ranboo padded into it slowly, looking around.

It was boring, like all adult’s bedrooms are, but one wall was covered in pictures. Ranboo walked towards it without thinking.

Some of the pictures had Phil in them. There was also a young-faced, blonde kid, (Ranboo’s age, probably) a brown-haired one who seemed to always be wearing band shirts (so the kid from the second room) and a pink-haired boy with glasses. 

Ranboo wasn’t looking for their faces, though. He squinted carefully at each picture, searching for the signs. Darkness around the eyes, a strong hand holding them just a little too tight, a bruise peeking out from under a sleeve.

There weren’t any baby pictures. The youngest Ranboo could see was one of the pink haired boy, though his hair wasn’t pink yet in this picture. He was maybe ten, curled up asleep under a blanket, pillow half covering his face. He looked… almost peaceful.

There were a few more with just him, and then one of the musical one playing the guitar. There were circles under his closed eyes, but he didn’t look upset. His mouth was open, like maybe he was singing. There was something wrong with his arms in the photo. Ranboo squinted but he couldn’t figure out what it was. They weren’t bruised, there was just something off about the skin.

The arms faded to normal in the next photo, and the circles under his eyes were lighter. In the next, he was laughing, a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t in the photos from before. He was clutching the pink haired boy’s hand, both of them holding ice cream.

The next was different. The pink haired and brown haired boy were sitting around the blonde, younger one, who looked skinny and a little pale, but happy. Ranboo immediately noticed that he had a few small scars, but they all looked older. The youngest was leaning into the other two, his arm out towards the camera, like he was holding hands with whoever was taking the picture. (presumably Phil.) There was something written on the bottom of the photo in sharpie, in the same handwriting as the note. _“I love you guys.”_

Ranboo stepped back. They seemed like… well, they seemed like family. _Too much_ like family. Like the families in storybooks. Those weren’t real. Families weren’t real that loved each other like that.

Ranboo barely realized he left the room, barely noticed making his way back and sitting beside his bed on the cold floor. Families like that didn’t exist. Families that loved each other unconditionally, that way. That wasn’t an option... right?

It wasn’t. None of this was real. 

Ranboo glanced at the folded note on top of the basket, so thoughtfully placed on the desk.

Tommy must just be good at lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sbi feelsssss :D
> 
> if u like it plz commentttt each comment personally fuels the words happening (its crazy its free story!)


End file.
